And I (good Ladies) as you may imagine, sorrowing and lamenting for the departure of my dear lover, remained the most comfortless and distressed woman, bewailing with continual tears his sudden and unfortunate absence.
THE THIRD BOOK OF BOCCACE HIS FIAMMETTA
AS YOU HAVE heard (gentle Ladies) before, even in such sort (my Panphilus being gone) did I remain, and with many tears not a few days after I woefully bewailed his sorrowful departure. And there was not anything else in my mouth (although I spake it softly to myself) than: “O my Panphilus, how may it be that thou hast forsaken me?” This name truly, when I remembered the sweet accents of it, amongst my many bitter tears, did yield me no small comfort. There was no part of my chamber which I did not with a most desirous eye behold, saying to myself: “Here did my Panphilus sit, here did he lie, here did I kiss him.” And in brief, every place in the same, by representing such sweet objects to my memory, was most dear unto me. Sometimes I feigned with myself, thinking, that (returned back again) he came to see me, and, as if he had been indeed, I looked towards the chamber door, and perceiving myself deluded with my vain fancy, I was angry with myself, knowing that I was deceived indeed. And because I would drive away vain cogitations, I remembered that oftentimes I began to busy myself about many things, but overcome of new imaginations, and leaving the same undone, my miserable heart with an unaccustomed beating did begin to molest me. I called to my mind many things which I would at his departure have said unto him, and repeating also many times with myself those words which we had to each other spoken. And in this manner, not setting my mind firmly on anything, I lived many days together a most sorrowful and pensive life. But after that this great grief (conceived by his departure) by length of time was somewhat alleviated, more forcible and violent thoughts began to enter into my mind, and, being lodged there, did with probable and apparent reasons keep and defend themselves there. And not many days after, remaining all alone in my chamber, it came to pass that I began to say to myself:
“Behold my lover is gone, and is going on his weary way, and thou, poor soul, couldest not at his departure once say farewell, nor pray the Gods to be his guides, nor kiss his troubled countenance, no, not so much as see him: which things if he keep in mind, and if any infortunious accident (which the Gods forbid) happen unto him, conjecturing some ominous sign by thy silence, may greatly (perchance) blame thee for it.” This thought troubled my mind very much at the first, but a new counsel and conceit of other matters removed it again from me, because among my sundry thoughts, I said with myself: “I ought not to incur any blame herein, because he, being endued with great wisdom, will sooner expound my sudden ecstasy for a lucky presage, saying:— ‘She said not farewell, which is commonly wont to be said to them who mean to absent themselves for a great while, when they depart, or else utterly to take their leave,’ but holding my peace, he will rather think with himself that it was a sign whereby to note that short time assigned for his stay there.” And recomforting myself again with this flattering imagination, I let it pass, and entered into other new and divers thoughts. And being thus beset with sorrow on every side, I remained all alone, my heart being wholly pensive for him, walking sometimes up and down in my solitary chamber, sitting down now in this place, and now standing in a muse in that, and other sometimes leaning my heavy head upon my hand against my bedside, I said to myself: “O that my Panphilus were come hither now again!” And then from these fancies I passed into other new conceits. As sometimes (for example) with great grief I called to mind how with smiting his foot against the threshold of the door he went out of my chamber, as my trusty waiting-woman had told me. And remembering also that Laodameia did gather no greater token of Protesilaus his long absence, and unperformed return, by no other sign than by this, it made me many times fall into great and ruthful considerations thereof, fearing lest the selfsame thing (which the Gods grant not) might as unfortunately befall to me. But not conceiving yet, in the depth of my mind, what should happen unto me indeed, I let these, as vain and frivolous imaginations, pass away, which did never the sooner at my will and pleasure depart, but when others coming afresh in their places, then did these forsake my melancholy mind.
And recounting those now in my mind, that were come, which were so many and so great, that to think of their number only (if of nothing else) it was no small pain to my poor heart, for I did not once remember (amongst my other thoughts) that I had read in Ovid his verses that troubles, cares and painful affairs did drive love out of young and tender minds, but rather, so often, when I remembered that he was on his way. And thinking, that these were no small annoyances unto everyone, and especially to him, whom I knew had been ever accustomed to rest, and acquainted with ease, and now most of all, when he was constrained to them against his will.
Wherefore I did first greatly doubt with myself lest the smallest of these griefs might not have been means forcible enough to have taken him from me, and feared again, lest his unwonted travails, and the hurtful and unseasonable weather, might have been an occasion of sickness, or of some worse mischance, that might have hindered his designs, and so hurt my desires. And in this doleful imagination (I remember) my mind was no longer busied than in any other, although that I did oftentimes argue, by the induction of his unfeigned tears, which I did see trickle down his cheeks, and of my painful troubles, which never changed my firmness, that it could not be a true conclusion, that for so little grief, so great love should be extinct, hoping also, that his young age (mastered with singular discretion and wisdom) would defend and keep him from any other hurtful accident.
Thus therefore, in opposing, answering and dissolving my own objections, I spent so many days, that I did not only think that he was now arrived in his country, but I was also certified thereof by his letters, which for many causes were most welcome and acceptable unto me: in the which he certified me, that with greater flames of affection he burned more in my love than ever he did, and with stronger promises did revive my hope of his return. Wherefore my first thoughts being gone, from this hour forward, new fancies did quickly arise in their places.
For sometimes I said: “Now my Panphilus, the only beloved son of his old father, who many years before had not seen him, received of him with great joy, feasted of all his kinsfolks, and dearly entertained of all his friends, doth not only forget me, but doth (I think) accurse the months, days and hours in the which, with divers occasions heretofore, my love hath stayed him here. And honourably welcomed of all his compeers, and with joyful congratulation of all Ladies and Gentlewomen, doth blame me (perhaps) who knew not how to feed his dainty fancies in anything else than in simple unfolding my secret love, and the strange effects of my new affections unto him, when he was here. And minds full of mirth and jollity are apt to be drawn from one place, and to be bound to another, according to the mutability of their pleased and displeased fancies. But (alas) may it now be, that I should lose him in this sort.
“Truly I cannot hardly think it. The Gods forbid that this should come to pass: and grant that as amongst my parents, and kinsfolks, and in my own and native City, they have made and kept me only his, so amongst his kindred, and in his natural country, let them vouchsafe to preserve him only mine.”
Alas, with how many salt tears were these words mingled, and with how many more should they have been, if I had believed that that which they themselves did truly prognosticate should afterwards have proved true: albeit that those, which then came not forth, I have afterwards in treble-fold spent all in vain. Besides such speeches, my mind (divining oftentimes of her woes to come) surprised (I know not with what fear), did greatly tremble and quake, which fear was most commonly resolved into these stinging thoughts, and words:
“Panphilus, abiding now joyfully in his City, full of most famous and excellent temples, and by reason of most solemn and high feasts, with exceeding pomp and glory celebrated there, doth with great pleasure visit them: where he cannot choose but find many fair and noble women, which, as in surpas
sing beauty, gallant behaviour and good graces they excel all others, so most of them being skilful practitioners in their enticing art, with subtle snares and amorous allectives are passing cunning to entrap young and gentle minds, thereby to draw them to their liking, and so to lure them to their love. Alas, who can then be so strong a guardian of himself, where so many motives do concur, but must (maugre his beard) at some time or other by plain force be overtaken: as I myself, not many months sithence, by like powers also assailed, may be an approved and hapless president of such strange and strong virtues, which in my simple breast prevailed. And besides this, new things are wont to delight more than old. It is therefore but an easy matter, that he (being newly arrived, and a stranger) may please them, and they him again.”
Alas, how grievous was this imagination to me, the which that it should not come to pass, I could scarce drive out of my mind, saying thus: “How may Panphilus, who loveth thee more than himself, receive into that heart, enclosed in thine, any other new love? Why, dost not thou know, that there is here perhaps some brave Lady well worthy of his love, who with greater force than with that of her eyes hath oft assayed and endeavoured to enter into his heart, but could not find any way whereby, he being yet scarce thine, as now he is, so many more Goddesses also of beauty passing up and down in this City, and yet not any one of them able to move his mind? How canst thou then think that he may be so soon enamoured as thou sayst? And besides this, dost thou believe, that he would violate that troth, which so religiously he avowed unto thee, for any other faith? It may never be, and therefore thou must trust to his fidelity, and rely upon his good discretion. With great reason thou oughtest to think that he is not so meanly wise, but that he knoweth, well enough, that it is but mere folly to leave that, which already he hath, to get that, which he hath not, yea, if that which he would forsake were but a small thing, and of great deal less account, in respect of that which he seeketh to attain, being of greater estimation and value. And of this also thou must have an infallible hope, that this cannot so easily come to pass: because if the great fame and general report of thy beauty be true, which thyself hast often heard, thou mayest (placed amongst the number of the bravest Ladies in his Country, and to the fairest of them all paragoned) be prized above the best, which hath not in it any one richer, braver or more nobly born than thyself. And besides this, whom can he find amongst all the Gentlewomen in his City, that would, nay that could, love him so dearly as thou dost.
“Again, he is not ignorant (as one expert in amorous affairs) how hard a labour, and intricate a matter it is, so to dispose and work with any woman, to make her like at the first, or at the first assaults to make her yield to love. And although he did not love thee at all, yet being troubled about many affairs of his Father, and occupied with his proper business, he could not now be at vacant leisure to acquaint himself with other new women. Wherefore let not this only fall into thy thought, but hold it for an infallible Maxim, that as much as thou lovest, so much thou art beloved again.” Alas, how falsely and sophistically were these arguments coined against the truth. But with all my disputing, I could never refel and put out of my mind the obscure and miserable jealousy entered into it for advantage, and accomplishment of my other griefs. But yet somewhat lightened (as if I had argued truly), and eased a little thereby, I did to my feeble power remove such injurious thoughts from my mind. O dearest Ladies, because I will not spend the time in recounting every one of my uncouth thoughts, what were my most careful deeds you shall now hear. At the strangeness of which marvel not, since I must needs follow, not those which I would, but such as it pleased Love to give me, ah, those was I constrained to perform. Very few mornings escaped me when, risen out of my weary bed, I went not up to the highest turrets of my Palace, and from thence no otherwise than the Mariners, climbing up to the top (of their main Mast, do pry on every side, to see if they can espy any dangerous Rocks, or ken any land that is near, which may hinder their continued course), I first looked about me on every side. And afterwards, fastening mine eyes steadfastly towards the East, I did mark how much the Sun, elevated above the Horizon, had spent of the new day, and the more I saw it higher, the more I said (to myself) that the term of Panphilus his return drew on, and many times I did with great delight, as it were, see it rise and come forth, and discerning sometimes my own shadow, by the ascended quantity of it in the Merediall line, made less and less, and sometimes looking to the space of his body, made bigger by the earth in his setting, I said with myself, that he went more slowly than ever he did before, and did lengthen the days more in Capricorn than he was wont to do in Cancer, and so likewise, mounted up to the middle circle, I said that there he stayed too long to delight himself in overlooking the wide earth. And although he glided down swiftly towards the west, yet me-thought he was too long in his course again, whose light after that our Hemisphere had lost, and that the twinkling stars had full scope to show forth theirs, thus partly contented, I went numbering and calling to mind many times with myself the days that were past, and with little stones did mark those with other days also that were to come, no otherwise than in times past (dividing their merry and happy days from their sorrowful and dismal times with little black and white stones) were wont to do. Oh, how many times do I now remember, that before their due time I did put a stone there, thinking that so much of the prescribed term should be diminished how much the sooner I adjoined it to that which was already past, sometimes counting the little stones assigned for the days past, and sometimes telling those which stood for those days which were yet to come, although I kept the number of every one of them very well in my mind (thinking every time to have found some of them increased, and that the other should have been diminished). So did my eager hot desire transport me to the wished end of the prefixed term. Using therefore these vain cares, I returned many times to my desolate chamber, more desirous to be there all alone, than willingly in any company. And when I was alone, to drive away sorrowful cogitations, I opened a certain casket of mine, out of the which I took many things (sometimes his favours bestowed on me) by one and one, and the delight and great desire which once I had in beholding him I did now take in gazing upon them, which when I had seen, scarce able to contain my swelling tears, yet fetching great sighs, I kissed them, and as if they had been rational creatures, and things of understanding, I did ask them saying, “When will your M. be here?” and laying them up again, I drew forth many of his letters which he had foretimes sent me, and reading almost every one of them over, and imagining that I did talk with him, I felt no little comfort. I called oftentimes my faithful and secret maid unto me, with whom I had much and divers communication touching him, sometimes asking her what her hope was of his return, and sometimes what she thought of him, or if at any time she had heard anything of him.
To all which demands, either to please me, or else according to her opinion, answering the truth, it was a great comfort to my desolate mind. And thus many times I passed away the greater part of the day with less grief and sadness. I took no less pleasure and content (than in the foresaid things) to visit the holy Temples, and to sit at my Palace Gate with other Gentlewomen of my acquaintance, where oftentimes with sundry discourses my infinite cares were somewhat removed from me. To which places sometimes resorting, it fell out often, that I saw divers of those young Gentlemen whom I did know to keep Panphilus company: and whensoever I espied them, I did never forget to look amongst them, if happily I might see Panphilus with them, as sometimes I did. Oh, how oftentimes was I vainly deluded with this foolish imagination. And although I was thus deceived, yet it did me much good to see them, whom (as by their pitiful countenances they bewrayed as much) I saw full of like compassion, that I had in seeing themselves alone (as it were) and deprived of their sweet companion, and who (methought) seemed not half so merry as they were wont to be.
Ah, what a great desire had I many times to ask them what was become of their gentle friend and associate, if reason and modesty had not counter-checked my eager
will herein. But Fortune truly was sometimes favourable to me herein, because in talking of him in suchlike places, and thinking that I did not hear and understand them, they said that his return was almost at hand: and how sweet these words were to mine ears it were a bootless labour to express. In this sort therefore, and with such sundry thoughts and superstitious deeds, and with many other like these, I did study to pass the tedious days away, which were so irksome to me in their length, desiring therefore still for night, not because of both I thought of it more profitable or comfortable for me, but because when it was come there was the more time spent, and the less to pass away. After that the cumbersome day therefore (whose long hours being finished) gave place to silent night, fresh fancies and new cares came also in company with the same. And I, who from my cradle being naturally given to be afraid in the solitary darkness of night, accompanied now with mighty love, was free from all manners of fear. And perceiving everyone in my house to take their quiet rest, sometimes I went up alone to that place where I had not long since seen the Sun rising in the morning, and as Arontes did speculate the celestial bodies, and their orbicular motions, between the white Marbles in the hills of Lucca, so did I (the night creeping on with overlong minutes, and feeling the great cares and careful thoughts to be enemies unto my wished sleep) behold the Heavens from that place, and the swift revolutions of them, imagining with myself that they were wonderful slow in their course: and sometimes turning mine eyes steadfastly towards the horned Moon (having recourse to her wane, and to her roundness), I perceived, by the increase and decrease of it, some nights to be longer and shorter than other. And so much the more my desire was made more fervent, by how much sooner I wished, that the four months by her sweet course had been brought to an end. Oh, how many times (although it lent a dimmed and obscure light) did I behold it a great while together with great delight, imagining that my Panphilus his eyes were then fixed on it as well as mine. Whom for all that I do not now doubt that (I being now quite out of his memory) he did not once care to look on the Moon, but not having so much as a thought thereof, he did rather at that time of the night take his rest in his bed.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 367
